Lance Alvers: Vampire Hunter
by JackLRose
Summary: Fury's Most Secret Agent recruits Lance Alvers to fight an army of vampires intent on wiping out mutantkind.
1. Chapter 1

By the time Lance was fully awake, the first scream had tailed off. "Shit," he muttered, climbing out of bed and groping about the floor for his jeans. By the time the second scream started, Kitty was sitting bolt upright in bed, wrapped in a blanket.

"Lance?" She asked tentatively.

Lance shook his head. "Nothing you need to worry about, Kitty," he said. "I'll take care of it."

"What's going on? That sounded like Toad."

"Nothing he'd want me to talk about," Lance said, pulling on his jeans and heading for the door. "Go back to sleep, okay? We'll be fine."

Out in the hallway, he bumped into Blob. The large mutant wore a pair of extra large pajamas, look of trepidation on his face. He was also, Lance carefully did not notice, carrying a worn and tattered teddy bear. "Sounds bad," said Freddy.

"Yeah," said Lance with a sigh. "I might need you to grab him." He pushed open Toad's door. "Tolanski!" He called, "We're coming in."

The younger mutant had stopped screaming, but he was clinging to the ceiling in the corner of the room, whimpering slightly and shaking like a leaf. Lance nodded to Freddy, who gently plucked the diminutive boy off the ceiling. Toad shrieked again and kicked at Freddy, but the larger boy absorbed the blows without evidently noticing them.

"Calm down," said Lance, gripping Toad's arm. "It's us. You're safe. It's us."

Toad's final scream ended in a choked off sob, and Freddy gingerly set him down. "Come on," said Lance. "We'll get some cocoa."

Pietro was already zooming about the kitchen as they came in. Besides cocoa, he had assembled a plate of peanut-butter and marshmallow fluff sandwiches. He glanced up as the others came in. "Hey guys," he said nervously.

Lance nodded at him, and snagged a sandwich. "Anything you want to talk about?" He asked Toad.

Toad grinned sickly. "Not really," he said, staring into his cocoa.

Lance nodded again. "Fair enough," he said. The boys sat in silence for a long moment, sipping their cocoa and chewing on the sandwiches.

Toad finally let out a weak chuckle. "You'd think with everything we've done- Mystique, Magneto, Apocalypse… I wouldn't still be having nightmares about a bunch of punks with steel toed boots."

Lance winced as the others looked confused. They hadn't heard the story- how Mystique had found Toad, why he'd been so willing to throw his allegiance to the abusive older mutant, and why Toad was so grateful for any scrap of human kindness. Lance only knew it because of that night, when Mystique was gone and the other boys and Rogue had yet to arrive, that he and Toad had gotten absurdly drunk on stolen wine coolers and lay on the roof talking for hours.

Lance told Toad the same thing he had then. "Wish I had some answers, Frog-boy."

Pietro zipped out of the kitchen and back. "Kitty's on her way down," he said.

Indeed, a moment later, she poked her head through the door. "I'm going to head out, Lance."

Lance stood up. "You need a ride?" He asked, but she shook her head.

"I'll take my bike," she said. "Walk me out, though?"

"I'm sorry," Lance said. "I wasn't planning on ditching you."

"No, it's okay," said Kitty. "The whole responsible sensitive team leader thing is like, actually, really hot. But the whole appeal of your bed is you being in it."

Lance leaned his forehead against hers. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"You know it, Alvers," Kitty said.

On his way back inside, Lance found the other Brotherhood boys in the living room. Toad was going through a pile of video cassettes and tossing them to Blob. "Yo," said Toad as he came in. "We figured we weren't gonna get back to sleep tonight, so we're gonna do a movie."

Lance nodded. "Pietro, you wanna put on-" before he finished speaking, he heard the sound of water pouring, and the click of the coffee maker turning on. "A pot of coffee."

Pietro gave him a smug smirk, and planted himself in the armchair- widely regarded as the best seat in the house. Blob held up a videotape. "How about _'Manos,' The Hands of Fate_?"

Lance groaned. "If we're watching that, we need…" he looked at his hand, which suddenly held a bottle of beer.

"Three steps ahead of you," Pietro said. "Not that that's anything new."

"Yo," said Toad quietly, as he and Lance sank onto the ancient couch. "Sorry I ruined the big sleepover."

Lance shrugged. "Not like you did it on purpose," he said as the opening title came up on the screen.

"Besides," said Pietro, "They got most of the important stuff out of the way pretty early in the evening." He held two fingers up in front of his mouth and poked his tongue out between them.

"Pervert!" Said Lance, flinging a pillow at him. Pietro caught it and tucked it behind his head in a single blur of motion.

"Hey, I'm just glad someone's getting some here," the speedster said. "God knows I'm going through a _serious_ dry spell. You'd think saving the world would count for something with the ladies."

"See, that's the sort of thing I really didn't need to know," said Lance.

"And I didn't need to know how many rock puns the X-geek had come up with about your junk," said Pietro, "But the walls are paper thin, so here we are."

"Quiet!" Said Freddy. "They're almost done with the driving sequence."

"Yeah," said Toad. "Torgo's going to be on soon!"

Pietro opened his mouth to say something, but was forestalled by a frantic pounding on the door. They boys glanced at each other. "For the love of god, open up!" Came a voice, tinged with more than a little of the scream.

Lance was on his feet. "Pietro, you're with me. Toad, Freddy, get ready to head out the back."

As his team scrambled to obey, Lance threw open the front door. The figure who had been pounding on it collapsed into the front room, and lay there prostrate on the floor. Two tall, thin, pale individuals stood behind him, a man with long, silvery hair, and a blonde woman with blood about her mouth. The woman smiled and slowly advanced on Lance. Her eyes were locked on his, and he suddenly felt his head swimming.

Then a siren sounded, in the distance but coming rapidly closer, and the two abruptly disappeared- one moment they were there, the next they were gone.

"Take this," gasped the man on the living room, and extended a hand clutching a small slip of paper. Without thinking, Lance extended his own hand and took the slip of paper, and the man fell back onto the carpet.

"Oshitoshitoshit," said Pietro, as he and Lance registered the blood staining the man's black turtleneck, evidently the result of the dozens of puncture wounds on his neck.

"Cleanest towels we have, right now!" Lance shouted. He knelt by the man, dropping the piece of paper as he pressed his hands to the side of the man's neck, trying to stem the flow of blood. In the instant- which felt like an eternity- before Pietro returned to shove a wad of dirty towels into his hand, the man stared at Lance and said "Fury had better be right about you."

Then he collapsed back to the ground.

"I told you everything," Lance said, glaring at the police officer, a large sandy haired and mustached man.

"You've told me nothing!" The man retorted. "A man drops dead on your doorstep, and I'm supposed to believe that you know nothing about it? He didn't say or do anything?"

"Yeah, he said, 'Help!'" said Lance. "And he made, you know, sort of a gurgling sound."

"You think this is funny?" The officer shouted, slamming the table and rising to his feet. Lance stared at him coolly- he was large and loud and clearly not feigning his anger, but Mystique he was not.

"All right, Kucharsky," a smaller, Latino detective came into the interview room. "Take a break."

"You're welcome to him, Ortega," growled the larger detective, leaving the room.

"Is this where you play good cop?" Lance asked.

Ortega shrugged, taking the seat vacated by the other man. "That's up to you, Mister Alvers. I just want you to think about one thing- whoever two were, they've already killed once. If we don't find them, you and your friends might be in danger."

Lance smirked back at the detective. "What else is new?" He asked.

Ortega sighed and sipped from a mug of coffee. "I know you haven't always been on the right side of the law, Mister Alvers," he said. "But after Apocalypse, the amnesty, you've done a good job of keeping your nose clean. A lot of people- my partner included- are just waiting for you to step out of line. They don't think that you can be anything but a hood. This is your chance to prove them wrong. Show them what a good, upstanding citizen you are. Anything that might have slipped your mind- this would be the time to tell us."

Lance met his gaze levelly. "Am I under arrest, Detective?" He asked. "Because if not- I'm leaving."

Lance glanced at the bloodstained piece of paper, confirming that he had read the address on it correctly, and then back at the blinking neon sign that proclaimed that the diner in front of him was "Stan's Place."

The address was correct, and the listed time was only a few minutes away. Shrugging to himself, he went inside. A smiling waitress quickly seated him, and he pored over the menu for a moment, before glancing at the paper again. Other than the time and place, listed in an a small, anonymous typeface, it was blank. He slipped it back into his pocket again, and glanced up.

A petite woman, with short cropped black hair, was sitting across from him, perusing her own menu. "What's a 'Kirby dot," do you think?" She asked.

"I think it's freeze dried ice cream," said Lance. "Oh, also, who the hell are you?"

"You can call me Daisy," she said. She glanced casually about the diner, and then set a small device on the table. "For the next few minutes, as far as everyone else in the diner is concerned, you and I are going to be talking about the weather, sports- nothing of consequence. During this period, it's vital that you do not leave the table, or you'll disrupt the hologram. Do you understand?"

"What if I do?"

Daisy's voice went very soft, and Lance had to lean forward to make out her next words. "That would be a mistake."

"Listen," said Lance, "I didn't talk to the cops. I didn't even tell my team where I was going. I don't want trouble with SHIELD. But I told Fury after New Mexico- I'm not coming back to work for you. As far as I'm concerned, you and he can go to hell."

Daisy snorted. "Wanda was right- you do have a problem with authority, don't you?"

"Is that supposed to impress me?" Lance asked. "Dropping Wanda's name like that? She wasn't ever really part of the team- she sure as hell split as soon as SHIELD made her a better offer."

"And you wouldn't- even though Fury made you the same offer. You told him to- well, I understand that it was colorful."

"Are you going to tell me anything I don't know?" Lance asked.

"You're coming to work for SHIELD," Daisy replied flatly.

"I'm leaving." Lance went to stand up.

"A man died to set up this meeting," said Daisy, her voice dangerously low again. "So sit your ass down."

Lance paused. "Fine," he said, lowering himself back into the seat. "But stop playing games. Why am I here?"

Daisy nodded, once. "Lately, SHIELD has been infiltrated by an extremely sophisticated enemy, who has proven able to turn even extremely loyal agents against us. Because the full extent to which the organization has been compromised is unknown, Fury's had to turn to outside resources. Your comments to Fury the last time he tried to recruit you for an official SHIELD mission are on file- even if someone has access to the SHIELD database, they won't be expecting Fury to use you."

"So I'm the perfect choice to work for SHIELD because of how unlikely it is that I would work for SHIELD?"

"Let me be perfectly clear," said Daisy. "I'm not asking you to work for SHIELD. My own name doesn't appear anywhere on official SHIELD files. If you accept this mission, it will be completely off the books. You'll be working directly for Fury, totally outside of the SHIELD bureaucracy. Believe me, that has its advantages."

"I've heard that before- and it didn't turn out well."

Daisy sighed. "I don't know exactly what happened between you and Fury in New Mexico." Lance opened his mouth to say something, but was forestalled by Daisy's raised hand. "And frankly, I don't give a damn. Whatever grudge you might be holding- this is more important." She paused, and produced a pen from a pocket, scribbling down a number on a piece of paper, and pushing it towards Lance. "Which is why Fury's authorized me to make you this offer."

Lance read the number, blinked, and read it again before answering. "If you've read my files, you should know," Lance pointed out, "Subtlety's never exactly been my area of expertise."

"Subtlety is where I come in," said Daisy. "Fury wants you along in case things get out of hand, and I need someone to bring down the house. We leave the first thing tomorrow morning- that will give you time to put your affairs in order."

"Hang on, I haven't said that I'll help you yet."

"Fine. You've seen the carrot- here's the stick. If I try this without you, and I fail, SHIELD's resources will fall into the hands of an immortal madman who hates mutants." She picked the device up from the center of the table, slipped it back into her pocket, and stood up. "Our time's up. I'll be here at five this evening to go over details for our departure. Pack light."

"So are you going?" Kitty asked. She sat next to Lance on a bench in the X-mansion's garden. "Just pick up and run off with Miss Junior SHIELD agent to who knows where?"

Lance shrugged. "Listen, I hate Fury more than most people- he's a bastard. But he's a scary bastard, you know? And by the sound of things, whatever's going on has _him_ scared."

Kitty shivered. "You're right- that is a weird thought. I just hate that he can come in and take control of us just like that." She snapped her fingers.

"Well…" said Lance, with a slow smirk, "Would it help if I told you I was planning on being surly and sarcastic the whole time?"

Kitty giggled. "It definitely wouldn't hurt," she conceded. "But are you sure this isn't the sort of thing that we couldn't handle better with a whole team?"

"You mean your team," Lance pointed out. He sighed. "I don't know, honestly. I don't really know what's going on. But Fury does, and he seems to think I'm right for the job." He chuckled. "The bastard."

Kitty giggled again. "The bastard," she agreed. "Hey- whatever happens, if you need help…"

"I'll know who to call." He put his arm around her shoulders. "You mind if we just sit like this for a while?"

Kitty leaned her head on his shoulder. "I"d like that."

"You're going where?" Pietro asked flatly.

"Not sure yet," said Lance. "Might be gone for a while, though. Think you can keep those two out of trouble for a while?" He glanced towards the living room, where Toad and Blob were in an intense Connect Four contest.

Pietro raised an eyebrow. "'Out' of trouble hasn't ever really been my thing," he pointed out.

Lance smiled ruefully. "Fine. You think you can keep them from getting caught doing anything too stupid?"

Pietro flashed him a grin. "Now you're talking my language." His expression quickly sobered. "Hey, rockhead, come back safe."

Lance raised an eyebrow, unsure how to respond to the silver-haired boys uncharacteristic shift to seriousness.

Pietro flashed him a cheeky grin. "You know, we're coming up on Toad's birthday, Blob says he's baking him a cake, and there's no way I'm dealing with that sugar rush on my own."

Lance chuckled. "Yeah, that seems about right. Don't touch my stuff, Whizzer."

Lance stepped out of his jeep, holding a duffel bag. "All right," he told Daisy. "I'm in. Now how about some answers. Who's this badass that's got Fury wetting the Helicarrier deck?"

Daisy glanced about the parking lot, and satisfied that they were not being watched, replied, "He calls himself Baron Blood- Lord of the Vampires."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Lance stared at her for a moment. "He… calls himself Lord of the Vampires? Or he is?"

"Well, a fair percentage of the vampire population in Europe and North America," said Daisy. "Do you find that hard to believe?"

"Fuck if I know," said Lance. "Last summer I fought an ancient Egyptian pharaoh and a bunch of giant robots. I guess vampires doesn't seem like too much of a stretch."

"You'll have more questions," Daisy said. "We'll talk on the way." Then, as Lance shrugged and turned back towards the jeep, she added, "Wait. We'll take mine."

Lance glanced at the car she indicated, and his jaw dropped open. It was low and black and gleaming, all sleek lines and sudden sharp edges. It didn't just look fast, it looked downright predatory. "God _damn_," he murmured.

"I told you my job had its perks," said Daisy, keeping all but a tiny hint of smugness out of her tone. "If you're good, I might even let you wash it. Now get in- we've got a lot of ground to cover tonight."

For the first half of hour the drive, Lance was too busy enjoying the speed and sheer awesomeness of the car to say much, but eventually he turned to Daisy. Casting an appraising eye over her, he finally said, "Aren't you a little young to be running SHIELD ops?"

Without taking her eyes off the road, Daisy removed one hand from the steering wheel and flipped him off. "How old were you when you started running a secret mutant terrorist team?" She asked.

Lance shrugged. "Fair enough. So, vampires- what's the deal there?"

"They like blood, shadows, mesmerizing the living, and raising up the dead as minions to do their bidding. Less fond of sunlight, wooden stakes, and this is the big one- mutant blood. They can't stand it- burns them up from the inside."

"Sounds like you'd do better with someone with a different power," Lance opined. "Aren't Summer's eye beams solar powered?"

"That option was considered," Daisy said. "Ultimately, Fury wasn't sure that Mr. Summers would be willing to use his eyebeams in a situation where he knew they would prove fatal."

"What's that supposed to say about me?" Lance asked.

"Your personality profile suggests that when the time comes, you'll do what's necessary."

After that, there didn't seem to be anything to say for a long while. Finally, Lance asked, "So where are we headed?"

"A small town in Northern Massachusetts, to start with."

"Vampires live in the New England sticks?" Lance asked.

"Not any of the important ones- not since the seventies, anyways. No, we're going to Dunwich Asylum, to see the only living man who might be able to tell us where Baron Blood is."

Lance considered this. "There isn't any chance that he's a doctor, is there?"

"I'm afraid not. The Thinker is held in the maximum security section of the Caligari Wing, and there's a very good reason for that."

"The Thinker? Christ, you don't mean-"

"Yes. The one the media calls 'The Mad Thinker.' Fair warning- I wouldn't call him that to his face."

"I always kind of wondered what happened to him after the trial. Hell- we used to tell ghost stories about him in the Brotherhood. _That's_ the guy we're going to for advice?"

"Oh, he's plenty dangerous- even behind bars. But once you start to understand the way he thinks, he can be an enormously valuable resource. Which is why SHIELD shuffled him quietly out of view in rural Massachusetts. Damn it- what's this now?" The highway ahead was blocked by flashing red and blue lights, and a long line of stopped traffic, slowly maneuvering their ways through a detour.

Daisy reached over and opened the glove box, removing a small, blocky pistol, which she held by her right leg. "If shooting starts," she instructed Lance, "Keep your head down. The car's armored enough to keep you safe if you don't stick your head next to the window, and there's no point tipping anyone off to your involvement yet."

"Seems a little extreme for a traffic accident," Lance remarked, peering out the window.

"Rule one," Daisy said. "No coincidences."

The two sat in tense silence as Daisy carefully maneuvered the car in and out of the various merging lines of traffic, both keenly searching for any sign of hostile activity. In the event, they came through the detour with no worse damage than a half-hour or so delay.

"So… no coincidences, huh?" Lance finally asked, as they accelerated again.

Daisy shook her head slightly. "I don't like it," she said. "I wanted to be in and out of Dunwich before sundown."

"So step on the gas," Lance suggested. "I know this things can do more than seventy."

"I'd rather avoid a traffic stop, thanks," said Daisy. "Theoretically, the plates on this car should trace back to a flawless cover ID, but there's always the chance that someone noticed it in Bayville."

"It is pretty flashy for a spy car," Lance said. "Don't get me wrong, I love a Bond Movie as much as the next guy, but I would've figured SHIELD would go for something more discreet."

"Look at it this way- if you saw this car roaring down a street, what would your first thought be?"

He considered the question. "I guess I'd probably say it was some rich guy's toy," he said.

"And if you saw a beat up old station wagon turn on a dime or go zero to sixty in under two seconds?"

"I'd probably figure that something sneaky was going on," Lance said. "Okay- I get the point. Is that how you convinced Fury?"

"That, and I stapled the requisition form to my after action report for a three week stakeout of a suspected HYDRA outpost in a paper mill. I still dream about that smell sometimes." She wrinkled her nose, and Lance couldn't help but chuckling. "Anyways," she continued, "If I'm James Bond, in this scenario, what does that make you? Halle Berry?"

Lance winced. "Really? Straight for the Brosnan movies?" He shook his head in mock disappointment.

"Let me guess, you're a Roger Moore fan?"

"Connery," said Lance, "All the way. How is this even a question? It's not. And if it were, the answer would always be Sean Connery."

"So not Lazenby?"

"Now you're just screwing with me." Lance glanced at Daisy, whose face was carefully set. "See, that's not cool. You can't abuse your secret agent poker face to mess with me like that."

Daisy allowed herself to crack a grin. "Fine," she said. "Sean Connery. So does that make you Honey Ryder?"

"Look, you're cute and all, but I don't see this going that way. I don't even own a white bikini."

At that Daisy allowed herself a guffaw. "Find some music, Alvers," she suggested.

Lance examined the dashboard skeptically. "I'm not going to launch a torpedo or something, am I?" He asked.

"Don't worry- those buttons are all on my side," Daisy reassured him.

Lance glanced askance at her again, but was once more unable to read her expression. Tentatively, he flicked on the radio, and then with more confidence manipulated the dials until the stereo began issuing forth with the White Stripes' "Seven Nation Army," while the car roared towards the Massachusetts state border.

Dunwich was a tired little town in rural Massachusetts. Daisy and Lance drove past several miles of abandoned buildings- some of them evidently once quite grand- with only the occasional house showing any signs of recent upkeep, before they turned off onto the dirt road that lead to the asylum.

Dunwich Asylum itself was an enormous brick building in the High Victorian Gothic style, complete with brooding grotesques and leering chimeras, made eerier still by the long shadows cast by the setting sun. Lance looked over it critically as they approached. "Doesn't exactly seem like the kind of place that would help make you any saner," He said, eying a particularly fearsome visage that peeped at him from under the eaves. "No, wait- I get it." Lance glanced over the building again this time noticing the occasional gleam from lenses and antennae, as well as other complex looking equipment which he could not put a name to. "So let me get this straight- all the fancy architecture helps hide the security equipment? Who the hell do they keep in here? The Red Skull?"

"You're not too far off- the Caligari Wing has functioned as a secret SHIELD detention facility since the end of World War Two. In general, it's used to house individuals who have proven cooperative but who are too dangerous to be let out in the world at large. I'm impressed you picked up on the equipment so quickly- it's pretty well hidden."

Lance grinned. "I've had a little experience. You should try sneaking into the X-mansion after curfew sometime."

Inside, the asylum was all soothing, primary colors. The receptionist, whose name tag declared her to be Ethel, glanced at them curiously as they entered. "Hi!" Said Daisy, in a high, chipper voice totally unlike that in which she'd spoken to Lance so far, "I'm here to see my Aunt Petunia."

Ethel's eyes widened slightly. "Of course, ma'am. Right this way- you will need to step through the metal detector. Facility procedure, I'm afraid."

"I understand," said Daisy. "You're just doing your job." She stepped through the metal detector, made a small noise of distress as it went off, and emptied several dollar's worth of change out of her pocket.

Lance followed her through the security checkpoint. "Aunt Petunia?" He asked under his breath, pinning his visitor's badge to his shirt.

The receptionist picked up a phone and spoke into it briefly. There was a distinct click as a heavy metal door opened slightly.

"It's a code word," Daisy said, pulling the door open and stepping through. "As far as most of the staff is concerned, it means that I'm from a family of wealthy patrons here to visit a relative who's not officially on the records in order to spare us embarrassment. They'll look the other way and keep us off the official record."

She stopped to consult a sign, listing directions for the Group Therapy Room, Patient Dormitories, Water Therapy Room, Cafeteria, and finally the Caligari Wing. "You haven't been here before?" Lance asked.

"I don't make a habit of visiting killer geniuses, no," Daisy said. "But don't worry. I know the protocol."

Suddenly the lights went out, plunging the windowless corridor into darkness. After a brief moment, they went back in.

"What was that you said earlier about coincidences?" Lance asked.

Daisy began running down the corridor. "We need to get to the Thinker- now!" She shouted. Lance broke into a run after her, only to pause as the lights once again went out.

"That's the emergency generator going out," Daisy said, as a set of dim lights flickered on along the hallway. "Whoever's doing this obviously knows the layout of the building."

They pounded up a flight of stairs, and came to another security checkpoint. The thick metal door hung open, dangling from one ridge. A guard lay slumped over the security desk, blood seeping from the wounds on his neck. Another lay against the wall, clutching a pistol.

Daisy moved to the desk. "He's dead," she announced. "Damnit- the guards on the Caligari Wing are SHIELD."

"Ah- Daisy? This one's not dead," Lance said. Daisy whirled around, to find the other guard back on his feet, levelling his pistol at Lance's head.

"Allow none to pass. Kill any who come into this room," the guard said, in a shrill monotone.

Daisy drew her own weapon and fired in an instant, and blood flew from the guard's shoulder. The gun fell from his hand, and Lance dove forward, grappling with him.

"Allow no one to pass! Kill any who come into this room!" The guard screamed. Lance bore him back, slamming him into a wall, and driving a fist into his gut. The guard shoved Lance back, and headbutted him. The two crashed together again, and this time Lance bore the guard to the ground. They rolled about for a moment, and then Lance managed to break away, and scramble to his feet.

The guard, who was still muttering the same refrain, tried to stand, but Lance kicked his arms out from under him, and then delivered several more kicks to the man's ribs. The man fell prone, and Lance drew back his leg for another kick.

"Enough," said Daisy, setting an hand on his shoulder.

Lance turned to her, surprised. "You're kidding. He's one of them!"

"Allow… no one," coughed the man on the ground.

"He's mesmerized. He'll snap out of it come daybreak. Now move! And keep your eyes open- whoever did this is probably up ahead."

The Caligari Wing resembled a prison more than an asylum. The walls here were bare concrete, and the doors to the rooms off of it were all of metal bars. The cells were also empty, but the hallway contained another two corpses, their hands locked around each other's necks.

Lance nodded towards them. "We find whoever did this, you have a plan for making sure that's not us?"

"Don't swallow any of their blood. Don't make eye contact. And whatever you do- keep blinking." She pointed towards the gun holsters on the hips of the dead guards. "If you're feeling under armed, this would be the time to remedy that."

"Haven't ever been much of a fan of guns. In my experience, they're usually pointed at me. You think they're likely to help with vampires?"

Daisy shrugged. "I've yet to meet anyone that got better at fighting with a bullet in their leg."

They rounded a corner, to see a figure standing before one of the cells, speaking in a low voice. The occupant of the cell, just out of sight, replied more loudly, "I'm afraid, however, dear Count, that our conversation must come to an end. I expect these two are here to present a prior claim to my expertise."

The figure whirled, and stepped forward, into the dim glow of the emergency lighting. He was tall and pale, dressed in a flawless black tuxedo. Blood stained his lips, and his eyes flickered with hellfire. "Count yourself lucky, mortals," he said, in an accent removed by centuries from anything the subjects of his address might know, "I have drunk my fill already this night. You may leave with your lives if you go- now!"

Daisy nodded slowly, as if considering, and then, without any hint of her intentions, raised her gun and fired three shots into the vampire's chest. He glanced down, evidently with more irritation than distress, at the blood staining his jacket.

"Idiot mortal child!" He proclaimed. "Have you the least inkling of who I am? I am Count Varnis- the slayer of thousands, the lord of night and fog. I have drank the blood of warriors and princes, and it has made me mighty! COWER BEFORE ME, THAT YOUR DEATHS MAY BE SWIFT!"

Lance glanced at Daisy. "He's a talker, huh?"

"He does seem to have that manner."

"All right, Count," Lance said. "Let's rumble." He stepped forward, slamming on foot into the ground, and thrusting his hand, palm out, at the vampire. The floor surged and bucked like a living thing, lifting the vampire off his feet and throwing him against the wall. He fell heavily to the floor.

"Abomination! Witchbreed scum!" Varnis rose off the ground and regained his feet, going from a supine to an upright position without any intermediate steps. "You will pay for that. Treatises shall be written on your suffering!"

Daisy crossed the distance between them as he ranted, and leapt, driving her foot into his stomach. It was apparently without effect, as was the followup blow with the side of her hand to his throat With a noise of impatience, Varnis flicked his wrist, sending Daisy flying across the hallway. Lance drew on his power again, but Varnis leapt forward, stretching out arms that seemed, suddenly, to be dark leathery wings, as well.

Lance stumbled back, but Varnis was on him in an instant, seizing him by the throat, lifting him off his feet, and slamming him back against the bars of an empty cell. "Now, freak, let me remind you why humanity learned to fear the night!"

Behind him, Daisy, who had climbed back onto her knees, raised a hand. The air between her hand and Varnis's head seemed to ripple and distort, and Varnis let out a brief choking sound. His grip on Lance's throat tightened, even as he slowly toppled to the ground.

It was the work of a moment to pry the fingers loose, and Lance sat up, massaging the red marks on his throat. "What did you do to him?" He asked, looking at the prone vampire, from whose nose blood was starting to leak.

"I induced a major subcranial eruption," Daisy replied, retrieving her pistol.

"You blew up his brain? You didn't tell me you could blow up people's brains."

"Always good to have something in reserve."

"Most elegantly put, Agent Johnson." The voice from the shadowy depths of the cell came again. "And my compliments on a battle well fought. But I would advise you not to rest on your laurels just yet- that which is undead does not easily die, and even now, the Count's shattered brain reforms itself. I estimate he will be back on his feet in three hundred twenty-nine seconds."

Lance and Daisy approached the cell, a stocky man with stringy red hair and heavy, blocky features, wearing a green jumpsuit, stepped into the dim light of the hallway. "Or, if I may- an alternative." He had one hand resting on a wooden chair, and now he seized hold of it, adroitly turning it upside down, and removing one of the legs, which proved to have been sharpened to a wicked point on the top end.

He extended it, blunt end first, through the bars. "A little preventative I laid in, for just such an occasion. I was beginning to think that I had miscalculated that little traffic incident, and I was going to have to use it myself."

"That accident on the interstate?" Lance asked. "You did that? How?" As he spoke, Daisy took the stake.

"Oh, it's the easiest thing in the world, once you understand the maths. A stock tip to my jailer here, a letter to a newspaper editor there. I hope you will forgive the delay, but I had to be certain that you would not be here and gone before sunset."

Behind him, Daisy plunged the sharpened stake into the cadaverous chest of the vanquished vampire. "How did you know my name?" She asked.

The inmate grabbed the bars of the cell and thrust his face against them. "Why do you persist in questioning my abilities? I am the Thinker! I did the math! I know who you are- and who your father is. I know where you came from, and why you're here. I know how you'll die- and how the world will end!" He stopped abruptly, and stepped back, wiping his brow. "I apologize. It has been a trying day. Now, allow me to illuminate the situation."

He stepped back into the shadows, and stooped down, retrieving something from the floor. "You know, when I first requested batteries, my jailors assumed that it was part of some elaborate escape attempt. Ridiculous, of course. As I eventually convinced them, I have no intentions of escaping. I'm quite comfortable here."

The object in his hands sprang suddenly to light- a crude lantern, furnished out of copper wire and bed springs, linked to a row of Double A batteries. He carefully set it down on the lopsided chair. "As you can see."

Besides the chair, the lantern, and a bed, there were two things of note in the cell. The first was an enormous pile of books. Lance made out titles such as "A Million Random Digits, with 100,000 Normal Deviates," "Chaotic Dynamics," and "A Twentieth Century Perspective on the Pnakotic Manuscripts." Then his eye was caught by the other notable feature- namely the complex formulae scrawled on the three walls in chalk.

"Ah, my work. Not a full picture, by any means, you understand," said the Thinker, for Lance had no doubt that this was he. "For that, I would need a prison cell roughly the size of Neptune. No, this is just a few reminders to myself, a few placeholders to let me clear my mind a little. All the real work takes place up here." He tapped his forehead "But you aren't interested in my methods. You came here for my information. I assume you know the protocols, Agent Johnson?"

Daisy nodded.

"Excellent. Then let's begin."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"I'm sorry," said Lance. "Can we assume for a moment that one of us hasn't been reading top secret SHIELD files, or doing magical math? What protocols?"

"It's not magic!" The Thinker protested, more exasperated than angry. "I don't know why everyone always says that."

"The agreement SHIELD came to with the Thinker," Daisy explained. "We trade question for question- until he poses one that we can't answer."

"Indeed," said the Thinker. "These little conversations are my main way to correct my calculations. There's only so much you can learn from what SHIELD allows to be published in the newspapers. So, my first question- Mister Alvers, is for you. Is SHIELD paying you for your involvement here?"

"I've been promised payment- but as far as I know, I'm not officially working for SHIELD. As best I understand it, I'm going to paid out of Fury's top secret black ops slush fund."

"Interesting." The Thinker turned and made a mark on the wall. "Your turn."

Lance glanced at Daisy who shrugged, and gestured for him to ask the question himself.

"Where's Baron Blood?" Lance asked, deciding that the best policy was to cut directly to the chase.

"My best estimation is that he is within a three mile radius of the Arc De Triomphe, in Paris, although he won't be there for long. Agent Johnson- how many field agents are currently assigned to the Costa Verde bureau?"

"At my last count, seven on semi-permanent assignment and another three rotating in on a monthly basis. Where is Baron Blood's base of operations?"

"He has been operating primarily out of Castle Actherliek, outside of Hassenstadt, in Latveria. Mister Alvers- where is Raven Darkholme now?"

"I- I don't know that," Lance said.

The Thinker sighed. "A pity," he said. "And you haven't even had a chance to ask what the Baron is doing in Paris, yet."

Daisy stepped forward. "Listen," she said, "You must know that that vampire was here to kill you. It's in your best interests to cooperate with us fully."

"No!" Shouted the Thinker. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to account in predictions for my actions as a result of my predictions? This is the reason we have rules! If I don't follow the rules, the whole system falls apart!" He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I get a little excited sometimes. In any case, we don't have much more time. By now SHIELD will have realized that they're lost the security feed from this institution. . A response team has already been dispatched, and will arrive here within the next twelve and a half minutes. I presume that the two of you will wish to be gone by then."

"He's right," said Lance. "If we're as far off the grid as you said-"

Daisy nodded. "At least make sure you don't give away any information that could identify us," she instructed the Thinker.

"I shall be the soul of discretion," promised the Thinker. "Unless, of course, they think of the correct questions."

"That'll have to do," Daisy conceded. "Let's move it, Alvers. Miles to go before we sleep."

The miles turned out to stretch between the Dunwich Asylum and an empty farmhouse on the outskirts of town. "This used to be a HYDRA safe house, during the planning stages of an assault on the Asylum," Daisy explained. "It's legally owned by one of them, who is in jail now. Theoretically, that should mean that no vampire can enter without an invitation from him."

"And what if a vampire makes someone their freaky mind slave?" Lance asked. "And by the way- not impressed with SHIELD being infiltrated by those guys."

"That was a crude form of mesmerism," Daisy conceded. "There are infinitely more subtle varieties. The exact nature of a vampire's power seems to vary widely from individual to individual. I've seen some agents don't realize what they're doing, even as they're leaving lists of SHIELD agents in dead drops. On the other hand, some vampires can't gain any measure of control without leaving you in a madhouse, bleating about the master and eating flies."

She pushed open the door. "There's no electricity or hot water, but there's a cistern on the roof if you want to shower."

The interior of the house was full of debris- furniture that had been smashed into sticks, broken glass and piles of old clothing. "SHIELD tore the place apart, looking for documentation on HYDRA," Daisy explained. "Looks like they left it a bit of a mess."

Lance, though, had a frankly goofy grin on his face. "Looks like home," he commented. He tossed his duffel bag on the couch, and sat next to it. "Throw in a few empty pizza boxes, clear out some of the fliesflies, it'd actually feel lived in."

Daisy sighed. "Look, there's should be enough water in the cistern for one shower. No offense, but I vote you."

Lance glanced down at disheveled and bloodstained clothing and shrugged. "You might have a point there. How do you know so much about this place, anyways? I thought you said you'd never been in Dunwich before."

"I read the files," Daisy said. "You'd be surprised what SHIELD keeps track of."

"I never was much for homework myself," Lance replied.

Daisy chuckled. "Believe me, I know. I read your file, too."

"Yeah? Somewhere along the line we're going to have to have a talk about you knowing so much more about me than I do about you."

"Maybe," Daisy said. "But not before you take a shower."

When Lance emerged from the shower, in clean clothes, toweling off his hair, he found Daisy in the front room, alternating between cleaning and checking an array of firearms, and peering out the front window into the darkness.

"You think we're likely to see more trouble tonight?" Lance asked.

"I hope not," Daisy said. "I could do with a little rest myself. The hope is that Vicaris came here alone- the old ones get cocky like that sometimes- and that they won't be able to get anyone else out here tonight."

"You're not sure, though," Lance said, sitting down on a pile of ripped open sofa cushions.

"If I were sure, we wouldn't still be here. We've got far enough to go- but I don't want to risk an ambush on the way out of town. We stay put for tonight, try to get a little shut-eye, leave at sun-up. One of us should stay awake, keep a watch. You want the first or second?"

"Funny thing. After all the excitement, and running around, and bloodshed and whatnot, I'm not feeling all that tired. I'll sit up first."

Daisy nodded, sat down with her back to the wall, and was asleep almost immediately. "Huh," said Lance, quietly. "Neat trick." He stood up and peered at the darkness beyond the window. "What the hell have you got yourself into, Alvers?"

The next day, back in the car, he made some effort to answer the question. "So you're a mutant? Or what?"

"One of the others, I suppose," Daisy said. "Don't get me wrong- there's definitely something cockeyed in my genetics, but it's not the X-gene."

"That have anything to do with the way you tensed up when the Thinker mentioned your dad?" Daisy's jaw clenched for a moment, and then relaxed into her secret agent poker face.

"Didn't think you'd picked up on that," she said, her voice carefully neutral.

"I've had some practice," admitted Lance. "You're not the only one with some baggage. I still don't know what all will set some of my teammates off. All of which kind of brings me to my point- I may not be SHIELD trained, but I'm not a goddamn civilian. You don't want to talk about your father- fine. God knows that's not anything new. But if you're keeping things from me that I _need to know_, things that could make the difference in a fight- you get why that might piss me off."

"I understand that," Daisy said, "And I can appreciate it." Her voice took on its dangerously soft tone once again. "And I hope that you can appreciate that when it comes to matters of secure SHIELD information, your feelings aren't the first subject I take into consideration."

"Just so we understand where we stand, then," Lance said. "Before we get to the airport and take off for Europe."

"I think we do," Daisy said, turning the car onto a long, empty, straight stretch of road. "And in the interest of things you should know- we're not going to an airport. My car can fly."

Lance took a moment to absorb that as Daisy floored the accelerator.

"Your car can _what?_"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four:

"Are you sure you're going to be all right?"

"I told you- I'll be fine," Lance said, pressing his cheek to the ground. "I just don't much like flying." He shot a glare towards the gleaming metal death trap that had carried him, all unexpecting, into the air and across the sea, all at speeds he was damn sure he'd never been meant to travel. It now rested underneath a camouflage net, in a small grove of trees.

"I don't much like seafood, but I've never kissed the dirt coming out of a crab shack," Daisy observed.

"Can we do the banter thing later?" Lance asked, finally sitting up. "Like, when you do something mockable?"

"Fine by me," said Daisy. "Let's talk strategy. Officially speaking, SHIELD has no authority to operate in Latveria- they never signed on to the relevant treaties. Mostly because the local nobility has no interest in anyone having any sort of firepower in this country."

"My experience has been, anyone starts a sentence with 'officially speaking,' there's something unofficial they're not mentioning."

Daisy shook her head. "Nothing of any real importance. SHIELD has a couple of contacts in the city, but no one I would trust to help us with this. For all intents and purposes, we're on our own out here."

"So what's the plan? We cowboy up and ride on this castle?"

Daisy shook her head. "Too risky. We don't know how many vampires are in there, how many humans they might have mesmerized or just on the payroll, or what they're planning. Damnit, I wish we knew what the Baron was up to in Paris. You really have no idea where Mystique is?"

"Last I heard, she took off after her kids made it clear that they had no desire to play happy family with her," Lance said. "I haven't exactly been turning over rocks looking for her."

"Can't be helped now, I suppose," Daisy said. "Anyways, we need a clearer picture of what's going on before we make a move. Which means, for the time being, we need to go incognito." She pulled the camouflage netting aside and popped the trunk of her car. Out came a large box, which, upon being opened, turned out to be full of eyeglasses, wigs, and make up. Daisy selected a large, thick rimmed pair of eyeglasses, and handed them to Lance.

"Seriously?" He asked, putting them on. "This is the ultimate SHIELD disguise kit? What happened to all your high tech image inducer toys?"

"Holograms can be detected or shorted out if you not what you're looking for," Daisy said. "Whereas most people aren't much good at recognizing people- even people who've wound up on TV as often as you have- out of context."

Underneath the disguise materials were a pair of passports, one of which Daisy handed to Lance. "Yeah, the context being, I look like a hipster," Lance muttered as he flipped open the passport. "Dominic Petros? What kind of a name is that?"

"Your name," Daisy informed him. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you the kind of alarm bells that would start ringing if anyone official knew that you were here."

"Okay. So we fly..." Lance considered the word choice, and evidently regretted it, because he stretched himself out prone on the ground again. "We go under the radar. How do we find out what they're up to? We can't exactly walk up to the castle and pretend to be selling girl scout cookies, and then just ask to pop in and use their bathroom for a second."

"That's not the plan exactly, no. But the thing about vampires- I mean, the one consistent, notable fact about vampires that go out and try to take over the world- they're not very good about controlling their appetites. I assume that's a big part of why they're based in Latveria. The aristocracy here has been preying on the peasants for generations. It wouldn't take much to convince them to let some new friends join in the fun."

"You mean they're holed up here because the local government's letting them just feed on whoever they want?" Lance grimaced. "Remind me why we're not breaking down their door and killing them all?"

"Because we'd die," Daisy said patiently. "Believe me, the idea disturbs me just as much as it does you. But getting ourselves killed isn't the way to stop it. And in the short term, it does give us an opportunity."

Lance's eyes widened. "Don't tell me," he groaned. "We're going to play fangbait."

"Oh sure, it's a real nice country you got here," Daisy told the bartender, once more using the irritatingly chipper voice she'd previously deployed on the Dunwich Asylum receptionist. Lance sat at the bar, nursing his drink enough to avoid drawing the bartender's ire, while making sure not to drink so quickly that his alertness was dulled.

"But ya know, it's kinda not as exciting as I was expecting," Daisy continued. "I heard that there was some real wicked parties going on in town, if y'know what I mean." The bar was a dive deep in Hassenstadt's red light district, and Lance was already nervous- several of the men had eyed Daisy and him with obviously predatory intent as they entered the room.

The bartender rolled his eyes as he took Daisy's glass. "You are looking for something wicked, Miss?" He said, laying one hand on the bar, palm up.

"That's right, mister," Daisy said. "Why do you know somewhere- oh! I get it." She winked conspicuously and laid a bill on the open palm.

The bartender pocketed it without looking. "I will write down an address for you," he said, "When you get there, tell them what you told me, that you came looking for something truly wicked. I promise to you, that you will not be disappointed."

Behind Daisy's back, several of the bar's patrons shot each other smirking looks, and one made a remark in Latverian.

"Well?" Daisy asked, as they emerged from the bar.

"Well, they definitely didn't look like they thought they were doing you any favors," Lance said. "No one mimed vampire fangs, if that's what you mean."

"It's a decent sized city," Daisy said. "There's likely to be all sorts of trouble we could run into, other than the sort we're looking for. But the man did say something about leeches. Could be a good sign."

"Yeah, or we could be walking into some sort of giant leech fighting ring," Lance said. "I don't suppose you've got any better ideas?"

"Nothing in the time frame we're looking at," Daisy admitted.

"Then I guess we should go check out the leeches," Lance conceded, raising a hand to hail a cab. The driver, a young man in a soft felt cap, greeted them in heavily accented English, apparently excited at the prospect of chauffeuring a pair of Americans about the city.

As soon as Daisy handed him the slip of paper with the address, however, a look of fear came over his place. "Ah! Miss- you do not want to go there. That is not a good place. I will take you to see the Chapel of Our Lady of the Mountain Springs instead. A much more pleasant visit, I think. Much better for you."

Daisy peeled off a trio of bills from her roll and offered them to the driver. "We can take care of ourselves," she assured him. He looked at the bills for a long moment, his desire for the money obviously warring with his fear of the address, and then, muttering what sounded like a prayer under his breath, he took the cash.

He was silent during their drive, although he frequently glanced back as though hoping that his passengers would come to their senses and give him another destination. As they pulled up outside the designated building, he took the rosary off of the rear view mirror, and handed it to Daisy. "Take this, Miss," he insisted. "It may help."

"Will you wait here for-" before Lance could finish, the driver had slammed the door, and was driving away. "I guess not."

"I'd say it looks like we're in the right place," Daisy said, examining the rosary.

Lance meanwhile, was eying the building- a large concrete structures, which lacked windows or more than one door- and that with a bat carved in relief in the center of it. "Are we going in?"

"No, there's likely to be too many in there.I think we'll just wander about the alleys here for a little while and look vulnerable."

Lance stared at her for a moment. "I'm not saying that the plan itself is stupid," he said carefully. "But you really need to work on your presentation."

Daisy shrugged. "It is what it is. Now tie your hair back, show a little neck."

Gladys the vampire was not having a good day. She had tarried too long in the charnel house the previous night, and the rosy fingers of dawn had come stealing before she could hie herself back to the Castle Actherliek. She had been forced to hide away the daylit hours in that den of rough mannered louts- those deemed too ill behaved to have a place in the Castle proper.

Now, picking a flea from her hair, and crushing the Siphonapteran beast between her molars, she perched on a building ledge, and watched the young human stroll aimlessly below.

Her head was clouded, and her mind roiled and moiled with a thousand half formed thoughts and fancies. She thirsted, with the primal instincts of a vampire lineage stretching back to the dim Hyborean days of old- even if it had been with her, specifically only a few weeks.

She would feast on this young mortal. She would drink him dry as bone- dry as the desert sands, and, her thirst slaked, her mind would blow clear of all the larvae and lamias that now haunted it, and she would make her way home to the Castle.

She sprang from her place of concealment, and landed whispersoft behind him. Silently, she reached out to grasp his shoulder in her Protean grip. Then, without warning or notice aforehand, a band of white-hot Tartarean pain encircled her neck. She tried to scream, and managed a faint gasp. Her erstwhile intended whirled about, making a slight grimace of distaste. Then, the pain about her neck spread, and she drifted into a bright new hell.

"Good morning," said Daisy.

"She does mean morning," Lance said, "Nice, clear day."

The vampire they had caught struggled weakly against her bonds for a moment, and then glanced about. She was bound securely to a tree, with her arms stretched backwards around it. The leaves of the tree were thick enough on the boughs to shade her in her present location, but just a few inches further out, the ground began to be dappled with sunlight.

"Can you speak?" Asked Daisy. "I wasn't expecting the rosary to have quite that effect on you."

"I can speak," the vampire hissed, "I can tell you that you'll burn for this! You think you can come here and pull this shit? When the Master hears what you've done, he'll peel your skin off and wear it as a hat."

"The master?" Daisy asked. "He's dead- we killed him in the US days ago."

Gladys's eyes widened for a moment, and then she scoffed in scorn. "Hah! The master wasn't even in America!"

Daisy turned to Lance with a smirk. "Look at her," she said, "Acting like she knows so much."

"You think so doesn't know so much?"

"I bet you five dollars she doesn't even know what the Baron brought back from Paris."

"Why are we bothering to interrogate her, then? We already know more than she does. I say, we just leave her there for the sun."

"There's no way you know what he brought back from Paris! No one does! He's not going to announce it until the rally tonight."

"Must be a big deal," Daisy remarked, "If even a pathetic little mosquito like you is going to be there."

Heedless of the danger of the sunlight, Gladys threw herself forward, the ropes binding her snapping as she dived, snarling, for Daisy's throat. Daisy stepped aside, leaving Gladys to charge into the sunlight.

Lance watched in horrified fascination for a moment as Gladys fell to the ground, screaming and thrashing, her skin blackening and smoking. He tore his gaze away, and, managing a sickly smile, quipped, "Not her brightest idea." He shuddered slightly. "Did you get what you needed?"

"It's a start," Daisy said. "It's telling that she didn't deny the fact that every vampire in the area would be at the rally- as mad as she got, I don't think she had an exclusive invitation."

Lance sighed and covered his eyes with one hand. "Why do I get the feeling the next step of your plan is 'infiltrate the rally filled with vampires?'"

Daisy grinned. "Don't be ridiculous. The next step is to load up on wooden stakes. We infiltrate the vampire rally tomorrow."


End file.
